


Perfect Beautiful Good

by OnYourMark



Category: White Collar
Genre: F/M, Multi, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-07
Updated: 2011-05-22
Packaged: 2017-10-11 14:19:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/113302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnYourMark/pseuds/OnYourMark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neal Caffrey doesn't know it, but he's probably the best thing that ever happened to Peter and Elizabeth's sex life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the White Collar Kinkmeme, polished up and posted here. [Prompt](http://community.livejournal.com/collarkink/516.html?thread=576772#t576772): "Chasing after Neal gets Peter all riled up. El knows the cause without Peter saying anything, but doesn't bring it up."

Neal Caffrey might be the best thing that ever happened to their sex life.

Not that it was ever boring, or bad. Elizabeth has never found Peter dull in bed or anywhere else. They're so in love it _hurts_ sometimes, and even if the sex hadn't been any good she suspects she wouldn't have cared.

But when Peter started chasing Neal, everything suddenly seemed...brighter. Sharper.

If she ever brought it up with Peter he would have first been horrified, second denied it, and third pointed out that it was probably more the passion of reunion when he came back from traveling (chasing). But it's not that, because sometimes he comes home from work, having seen her eight hours ago when he left that morning, and she comes out to kiss him hello and the next thing she knows she's on the dining-room table, legs wrapped around Peter's hips, moaning and kissing him and it's _perfect_.

So it's not just when he travels, and it's not when he's working other cases. It's the days he cracks something on the Caffrey case, the days Neal Caffrey lets Peter get a whiff of him before he disappears.

She'll never tell him. He's so beautifully oblivious to the way he reacts to Neal. She feels like she ought to find Neal somehow (a fantasy, perhaps, doing what her husband can't ever quite seem to) and send him a gift to say thank-you. Maybe a nice hat or a copy of the tape-recording she made when Peter got back from two weeks away and fucked her so thoroughly they almost broke the bed (they did alarm the neighbors).

The day he catches Neal, right there in New York, Peter calls to tell her the good news. He comes home to a celebratory dinner with cake, but instead he pulls her down onto the couch and kisses her for what feels like hours instead, just kissing and kissing. The food has long since gone cold when she realizes that either all he wants is this or he's doing it to hide the fact that he can't seem to get it up.

It's the only time it's ever been a problem -- the next day he's shaken and lost but when she curls around him in bed he's hard and it's still good, if a little quieter than it has been. Even if he hadn't been able to, she'd still love him: his beautiful brain and big capable hands and the solid immovable weight of his convictions.

The first day of the trial she goes with him. He didn't ask, but then Peter is not the kind of man who would, and he _is_ the kind of man who would want her there.

She sees Neal in the flesh for the first time, all gorgeous paper-thin arrogance and failing charm. He's the exact opposite of her Peter: there's no substance underneath, and his hands (while undoubtedly capable) are fine-fingered, used to more delicate work. She finds herself thinking Neal Caffrey could never build the lattices Peter built into the patio, couldn't wrestle new pipes into place when the kitchen sink fell apart.

Peter, next to her, can't look at Neal. But when the hearing breaks for lunch they find a convenient broom closet down the hall from the courtroom and he hitches up her skirt and neither of them make any noise as they fuck and that's pretty perfect too.

She never comes closer than arm's length to Neal, and his hands are shackled, but that night when she's digging through her purse she finds a little origami goldfish folded out of a piece of torn legal pad. Written on one side is a single sentence:

_Mrs. Burke, you are very beautiful._

She doesn't tell Peter about that, either. Peter would strangle Neal with his bare hands. But she feels the little secret bubble of pleasure that a married woman feels to find she has a young admirer.

Soon after, Neal Caffrey is sentenced to four years in prison. Something...goes out of Peter.

Peter notices the change in himself, but she can see the gears clicking in his head, has always been able to read him easily, and she knows he lies to himself about what caused it. First, he thinks it's exhaustion from the case and the trial; later, he thinks it's that he's getting older (well, they both are) and he starts working out a little more. Which is certainly nice, but El worries for him.

The day before his birthday a card arrives from Neal. It's a simple, cheap affair; he opens it before he realizes what it is, and when she hears the strangled noise from the living room she comes out to find him staring down at it with emotions on his face she can't, for once, decipher.

Peter, of course, assumes that the sex that night is so good because it's birthday sex. He never even seems to consider why, if it's his birthday, she's the one who comes three times.

Elizabeth goes out the next day and pays cash for a box of art supplies. She doesn't know what Neal likes, but he seems like he'd be willing to improvise. She sends it from the address of an old apartment she used to live in before she met Peter. She has no idea if it arrives; she's hoping perhaps Neal will send them something if he has art supplies, but there's only silence from supermax.

Until Peter's next birthday, when a hand-drawn card arrives with a gorgeous, intricately detailed sketch of a fish on the front (later, Peter tells her it's an anatomical study by Leonardo da Vinci). Peter is baffled by the card, but Elizabeth knows Neal got the art supplies. She sends another box the next day, wearing a scarf around her throat to hide the bitemark Peter left there.

The third birthday card arrives two days late and while Peter is in the middle of an intense investigation. When he gets home all he wants to do is sleep. El rests her head on his shoulder and strokes his hair, listening to his deep, even breathing. When he wakes, she tells him, "Neal sent you another card."

"I don't care about Neal Caffrey," he growls, but then he pulls her over on top of him and holds her steady and tight while she rides his cock and it looks like it hurts, he comes so hard.

Five months later, Neal escapes, and Elizabeth feels a little guilty squirm of delight, but something's wrong. Peter sits up with his file all night after catching him, quiet and contemplative, and for a week he barely touches her. When he finally seems to notice he's been neglecting her, another week passes where he can't do anything _but_ touch her. It still feels wrong, it feels wrong up until the day Peter says, "I'm taking Neal out of prison. We need his help."

And then one sunny autumn day Neal Caffrey turns up on her doorstep in the flesh. She hasn't seen him since the day in court when he somehow slipped what could be considered a love-note into her purse.

"Mrs. Burke," he says, with a con man's smile in place. He's still wearing that thin layer of glossy, arrogant charm, but she thinks now there's something stronger underneath. Or perhaps it's always been there, but with her husband next to her the contrast dimmed it to nothing.

"Neal," she replies, putting on her own good-hostess smile. "Come in."

"Thank you," he tells her, a perfect gentleman, but his eyes sweep their home in an instant. "I need to talk to Peter."

"He's in the shower. Can I get you some juice? Coffee?"

And then his eyes are sweeping her with that same unemotional appraisal he applied to the room around him. The difference is, when he's done with her, they're warm.

"Coffee, please, if it's not any trouble," he says. "Do you mind if I wait?"

"Not at all. Sit down," she tells him, and by the time she comes back from the kitchen he has a folder open on the table. He holds up a mirror and a magnifying lens.

"Wanna see a forgery?" he asks, and she laughs, and she does.

She's leaning over the image, peering through the glass, when he says, very quietly, "I got the art supplies. Those were from you, right?"

"Peter doesn't know," she replies.

"Thank you," he says. His fingers steady the lens. They are, still, so different from her husband's hands, but perhaps Neal isn't his opposite; more like a mirror-twin. She begins finally, finally to understand how this man holds so much of Peter's unconscious thoughts in his palm. She wonders if Neal knows the power he has.

"Peter says you're going to be consulting with him for a while," she tells him, leaning back against the couch.

"I hope to," he says. His hand goes to his ankle where a little green light blinks. It's the first tell she's seen or heard of from him, and it surprises her that his own thoughts are so open to her.

When they leave, Peter kisses her with every kind of promise and holds her so tight she thinks his fingers might leave bruises on her hips.

She finds a little origami bluebird in her back pocket.

_Mrs. Burke, you're even more beautiful now._

This is going to be so good.


	2. Chapter 2

There follows a very strange year, perhaps the strangest year in Elizabeth's life.

She learns to like Neal -- almost definitely already did, if she's being honest with herself. She comes to understand that the insubstantiality of him is not a character flaw but an injury he was given at some point; he's simply never been taught to anchor himself in the mundane world. His world has been a series of lies brought to a sharp conclusion by prison, by Peter, and nothing in his life has been ordinary or normal.

She watches Neal become solid and substantive under Peter's care, watches her husband take a charming ghost and turn him into a man. Peter has always been good as a mentor, someone sought after by young men and women for his ability to produce strong, incorruptible agents who go on to great careers. She's simply never seen him take so little and make so much with it before.

And when he comes home after a day spent struggling with Neal or after a hard case, the sex is frankly _amazing_. (Peter thinks it's because he's working out more.)

She falls a little in love with Neal -- well, nearly everyone does. And she watches her husband fall a little in love with Neal, which is amusing and arousing and frustrating.

Peter is not in love with the charming boy he hunted for three years, though she suspects Peter found a lot about Neal that kicked his protective instincts up. And Peter is not in love with the convict he took out of prison, the boy Neal remained, the boy he was even that day he visited Elizabeth and left another love-note in her pocket. Peter is in love with this creation he's making, two parts Neal and one part his own handiwork. She's never seen him feel this way about a probie before, even about Diana, his best and brightest. Neal is Peter's masterpiece in progress.

Of course Neal's also a human being. Neal works hard at being likable. He can draw and cook and fix almost anything electronic, he can talk about art and music and science (chemistry, mostly). He can dance. He and Satchmo are caught up in a mutual adoration society where Neal's job is to give pets and walks when he's over and Satchmo's job is to never be more than two feet from wherever Neal is. Neal isn't simply something Peter is building, and he has his own ideas about life during that first long year he and Peter work together. That, she knows, is what makes him so challenging.

The fact that Peter is in love with his work but Neal is a human being make things difficult for her, at first. After ten years Peter still makes her heart beat fast with the idea that he's hers, that somehow nobody else saw what she saw and she gets to keep him forever. She knows she owns his heart and soul, and she's confident in his love and sees daily evidence of it, so she's not jealous, not of Neal, because Neal sees what she saw too, she's sure of it. She and Neal may be the only two people who have ever really seen Peter.

But Neal frustrates Peter, sometimes angers him, sometimes disappoints him, and Neal after all is in love with Kate. It's hard to watch Peter want something he can't have, even after she's become accustomed to watching him want something else at all.

Still, she can spare Neal a little of Peter's big heart. Especially on days when Neal makes him crazy and Peter comes home and pushes her up against the wall next to the stairwell and kisses her deep and hard. Sometimes they make it to the bed and sometimes he just rocks into her right there, face bowed to her shoulder, hands huge on her hips, mumbling about how much he loves her while she feels like the most beautiful woman on earth.

A Neal Caffrey unblinded by Kate would be something to see, she thinks. Kate will always rule his emotions but his disobediences really, in the long run, are pretty rare. Neal wants to please Peter and tries to do as he says inasmuch as he can.

Perplexingly, Neal still sends her love-notes, though they're not so much on the same theme and he never calls her Mrs. Burke again, always Elizabeth.

She'll see Neal when she comes to meet Peter for lunch, or he'll be over working on a case and stay for dinner, or he'll be a fugitive from justice and need a place to hide out. The odds on any of the three can't be calculated with ease. Not every time, but many times, she'll find a little paper animal in a pocket, or her purse -- or once, somewhat infamously, under her plate while they were clearing away dinner. Peter saw that one, but he just shook his head and muttered _Caffrey_ and anyway all it said was _Thank you for dinner._

At first they say silly things, like a first courtship. _I like your smile_ or _That's a nice dress_. As it goes on, as Peter shapes Neal into something more, they become...friendlier, maybe, more mature certainly. _He lights up when he sees you_ and _I'm sorry we were late for lunch_ and _I hope the party went well_.

Once, tucked in the corner of Peter's pocket where only someone turning out his pockets for the laundry would look, she found a little red fox-face with eyes drawn on it and, on the back, _You're kinder than he is._ She wonders what it means, but she doesn't ask Peter. Neal, she knows, sometimes needs to learn that actions have consequences, and Peter is very good at measured consequences, even if it isn't _kind_.

The way Neal looks at her sometimes, she thinks she could own him. If Neal wants to please Peter, he wants to touch Elizabeth. She knows what lust looks like and it isn't that, even if it's not quite love either, at least not yet. Neal feels desire. Neal is probably, in the end, very lonely, and she wishes things could be different but as long as he's chasing Kate, they can't.

It would shatter Peter to have that much of Neal and then lose him. As it is, when Peter knows he's close to losing Neal to the lure of the music box and the promise of Kate, he becomes distracted and desperate and Elizabeth isn't grateful to Neal for the chaos he's brought into their life: for the FBI raiding her office, for Peter's suspension, for the danger her husband is now in.

Then Neal's world explodes, worse than anything he could have rained down on them. Elizabeth and Peter will always have each other, and the rest can be painful but is ultimately irrelevant. When Kate dies, it is destruction, devastation. He is hurt far worse than he could ever hurt Peter.

And the first she knows that the two men who matter most in her life are hurt at all is a phone call from Diana.

"They're both okay," Diana says. "Neal's pretty bruised up and he's got a few burns but he'll be fine. Peter's got three bruised ribs. Elizabeth..."

Elizabeth feels her chest constrict. "What?"

"They're taking Neal into custody. I can't do anything and they're keeping Peter away from us so we can't tell him. Even if he knew, there's nothing he can do. They're making noises about sending him back to prison."

"Should I come there?" Elizabeth asks. It's hard to breathe.

"No, they wouldn't let you in. Peter's going to have to give a statement, they'll do that downtown."

"I'll meet you there," she says.

Half an hour later, having broken most of the traffic rules in the state to get there, she walks into the offices of the White Collar division and sees Peter sitting at his desk, as if everything is normal, talking to a woman who's taking notes. When he sees her he stands, tries to get down to her, and at first he's stopped by two men outside the door. She hears him snarl "That's my _wife_" and then he's there, she can feel the bulk of strapping around his ribs, she's saying "Baby, I'm so sorry" into his chest. He smells like burning things.

"It's okay, it's all right," he breathes, pulling back a little to cup her face and look down at her. "I'll fix this. It's not important. I _saved him_, El. I got to him in time."

She reads what he means to say rather than what he says, because he's still a little in shock and probably on painkillers. He couldn't save Kate, and if he could have he would have; he's hurt and scared and he's clinging to her, holding on to her presence and the fact that Neal is safe. She holds him tightly, mindful of his ribs, until he lets go. She lets Diana take her to get some coffee while Peter finishes, and then she takes him home.

Later that night, lying in bed, dozed out on the _real_ painkillers he couldn't take earlier, he slurs a little when he tells her the bruised ribs are from Neal, struggling to get out of his arms while he held him back from the explosion. She runs her fingers over his chest gently, and he nuzzles affectionately into her hair, kissing her until he falls asleep.

She worries about Neal. She worries about Peter. But she has Peter, and Peter will find a way to save Neal; he always has. They will survive this, the three of them. And meanwhile, Peter is sleeping in her arms.


	3. Chapter 3

Kate's death doesn't change much about Neal's behavior, not at the heart of things; now instead of chasing her he's chasing her killer, and that makes him just as unstable as before. But now, also, Neal is both grieving and free to find -- well. Solace. Comfort. Some kind of relief.

It's not good for a man like Neal to have gone so long without basic physical intimacy, Elizabeth knows. It shows in the way he leans into any touch, the brilliant and honest smile he gives her when she rubs his arm or even just touches his hip to let him know she's there when all three of them are in the kitchen cooking. It would be a bad idea if a man with a sharp knife didn't know you were behind him, after all. (Peter's job is to stir things and not offer suggestions. Pot roast is his one crowning achievement, but otherwise he's hopeless and he knows it.) They bring Neal home a lot, after Peter gets his badge back and gets Neal out of prison -- they bring him home as often as they can, because he needs them.

She watches Neal touch her husband constantly, for reassurance, to get his attention, to remind himself that both of them are still alive. On those days when Neal can't stop touching, even at work, she and Peter go to bed and Peter pulls her close and they make love and he begs her _Please, El, please_ but he never says what he's begging for. She isn't sure he knows.

One afternoon Peter drags Neal along to a lunch out, probably because Neal hasn't seen her in ages and pestered him into it. She sees Peter put his hand on the small of Neal's back to guide him around the chairs -- utterly unnecessary, since Neal's like an acrobat, all grace and muscle. But when he does, an expression crosses Neal's face and suddenly Elizabeth can hardly think, she's so turned on. She can't even imagine -- except she can, oh lord can she -- what it would be like to see Peter give Neal that thing Neal is desperate for. Touch him, kiss him, strip him out of those suits and own him. She'd like to do that to Neal, and she thinks Peter would if he ever managed to be objective enough about himself to know what he feels for Neal at all.

That night she holds Peter down on the bed -- he could break free easily, but he never would, he'd never fight her -- and kisses him senseless and tries to imagine her husband entwined with Neal, and comes twice with Peter inside her, before he moans and gives himself up.

"Hey," he says after, pressing his face to her cheek. "Hey, hon. Good, right?"

She laughs. "Good."

"Thought so," he replies, looking smug, and she finally lets go of his wrists. "What was this all about?"

"I don't know," she tells him, which is only a small lie.

He dozes there with her for a while, and she thinks he's asleep, but then he says, "I love you. I love you so much."

"Love you back," she says, inhaling against his skin, the ten-years-familiar smell of sweat and soap and aftershave. He is hers: solid and steady, and she can't begrudge anyone who would want to rest their burden against Peter (Peter, from Petros, meaning rock). Least of all Neal.

The next time she sees Neal, she finds three pieces of folded paper in her purse later. The first she pulls out isn't folded so much as twisted into one long spindle, with a boxy shape in the middle; she has no idea what it is. The other two are identical, each a long strip with serrated spikes at the top. Oh, she thinks. These are a crown...

She assembles them, slipping little protruding tabs together, and then fits the spindle into one end like a decoration. That doesn't look completely right, but it's still sort of pretty. She disassembles it and studies the halves of the crown for the note that's sure to be there. On one half is written _I might be a little in love with you._ On the other, _I might be a little in love with Peter._ The third piece has no writing.

She's not sure what to do. Maybe the time has come to show the origami to Peter.

She rebuilds it and shows it to him, and he laughs and says, "Did Caffrey give you that? It's not a crown."

Elizabeth is a little miffed. "So? What is it?"

"It's a trap," he replies, and takes the spindle out of it. He slots one end of it through the tabs that make up the crown, then presses down on the boxy part in the middle. The two halves of the crown snap shut on his finger, gently. Oh.

"He's very clever," Peter murmurs.

"Honey, you should read what's written on them," she tells him, and Peter disassembles the trap. He picks up one half, reads it, and anger shows in his eyes.

"Is he making you uncomfortable?" he asks, looking up at her where she's leaning over his shoulder. "Is he coming on to you? I'll throw him back in prison myself if he touches you, El, I swear to God -- "

She rests a hand on his, and picks up the other half, offering it to him.

The anger abruptly drains from his face, replaced with confusion. He looks down at the writing and then up at her again.

"So does this mean," she asks quietly, "that what he's saying is a trap? Or he feels trapped?"

Peter shakes his head, so confident even in the midst of his bafflement. "It means he knows I've caught him." He looks down at the paper again. "This happens sometimes. I went to a seminar about it a few years ago. CIs form attachments to their handlers because we have so much authority over them. They're not sure how to express what they feel, especially guys like Neal who haven't ever really had stable family relationships, so they latch onto the idea of the handler being a father figure or someone they're in love with. It's easy to think you should give someone an emotional bond in return for the protection they're giving you, and it can get inappropriate -- "

"Honey," Elizabeth says, cutting off his justifications and his rationalizations. "Do you really think Neal doesn't know his own mind?"

Peter smiles a little, a dry self-deprecating smile. "Handlers can form inappropriate attachments to their CIs, too. Until about five minutes ago I would have said Neal knows what he's thinking and if he doesn't, I do. Now..."

"Are you going to talk to him about it?" she asks.

"What would I say?" he looks down at his hands, so different from Neal's.

"That we care about him," she says, stroking his hair. "That he doesn't have to do anything different to have that. Give him the lecture on CIs and their handlers, if you want to. Or we could tell him we're a little in love with him, too."

Peter looks up at her sharply.

"Aren't you?" she asks.

"Are you?" he asks carefully. She laughs.

"You are," she says. "And I am. I think he's lonely, Peter. You've given him a lot, taught him a lot, but being Peter Burke's protege is a professional life, not a personal life."

"How would that even..." he's perplexed still, but no longer perplexed by Neal's revelation or by her remarks. He's moved past it already, either because he can't deal with it or because he finds it irrelevant, straight into the "solving the case" portion of his very thorough but sometimes a little repetitive mental process. Given crime A, investigate, solve, and provide proofs for conviction B. Neal's infatuation with them is no longer a shock; now it is something to solve.

Theory: Neal is conning them. Theory: Neal is forming inappropriate attachments that he doesn't truly feel. Theory: Neal is attracted to them.

Given the latter, what action is appropriate? Collect more data, close the case, or move to convict? Can proofs be provided for conviction? Can the suspect be detained?

He turns to her, abrupt. "Does it bother you?"

"What, this?"

"His attraction to you. Does it bother you?"

"To us," she corrects gently, because he's interrogating her (this happens sometimes). "No, it doesn't bother me."

"Do you want me to put a stop to it?"

"Sweetie," she says, and there's an edge of warning in her voice. "Do you want to put a stop to it?"

"I didn't know it was happening," he said.

"Will it hurt anything if you do nothing?" she asks.

"I don't know. This..." he snaps the trap shut on his finger again. "I think it needs some kind of response."

Before, when it was Peter chasing some ephemeral concept, the idea of Neal Caffrey, it was hot and sensual and surprising, her and Peter's life together. When Neal came back into their lives she and Neal had something...sweet and gentle, wistful more than anything. Now the two are colliding and there's something that has to give and she's terrified that the sweetness is what will be lost.

Peter is more, when he has Neal in his sights. Neal has learned to be more, because of Peter. These two powerful, stubborn men are circling each other and being in the middle isn't quite as fun as it used to be when it was all jokes and fantasies. Now she has to move cautiously.

"What do you feel?" she asks, and Peter responds unhesitatingly.

"Confused," he says.

"Do you love Neal?"

"I've never thought about it. Not like that."

She can see it's true, which is amazing, given that Peter's reaction to Neal, here in private where he can be Peter and not SA Burke, has almost always been sexual.

"Do you?" he asks her, clearly afraid of the answer.

"I love the man you've made him," she says quietly. Peter's eyes burn with posessiveness, but there's also another light there. Pride? Perhaps more like...satisfaction. The job is well done. "If you asked me to choose, I'd always choose you. Between you and anyone else, you. Without a thought."

She slides across to him, arms around his neck, straddling him, and they both realize at the same time that he's hard. Peter's eyes go distant.

"Oh my god," he says, and it's hitting him. "When I was chasing him -- "

"Mmhm," she says, rubbing his hair.

"And this year...no. I'd never do that, I wouldn't -- I love _you_," he says, and her heart is breaking for him because he really believes he doesn't have any room left to love anyone but her when she knows, has always known, that he does everything with love. He couldn't possibly hope to be the good man he is, the good man who carries a gun, if he didn't. It's why she married him. It's the thing she constantly wonders at, that nobody else has seen how fiercely Peter loves.

"Shh, it's okay," she says, and pulls his head against her shoulder. He's shaking, fingers tight in her skin. "I know you do, I know."

He kisses her suddenly, like he has something to prove, and maybe he does. She goes with it, because it's not like it would be the first time they've had gloriously unrestrained sex on the dining room table. But he manages to get them upright and up the stairs and he's scrambling to get their clothes off, to get her into bed and cover her with his body. There's no foreplay, there's no gentleness and she doesn't _want_ gentleness, because Peter is proving to her with his mouth and hands and the push of his hips that he belongs to her.

Perhaps that's been it, really, all along, the reason Neal affects him. All that love poured out on poor Neal's unsuspecting head just made Peter desperate to prove that he loved _her_.

And he does. That's what's so beautiful. He loves her on Monday mornings and at cut-short stolen lunches and on the phone when she's working an event and when they go out to a movie and when they're in bed, oh, he loves her.

After he comes, face pressed to her shoulder (there will be a mark there tomorrow where his teeth bit down) he's still breathing hard, frightened, confused. Her boys are such fools sometimes.

"Let me talk to him," she says softly, when he's breathing a little easier.

"And say what?" he asks, equally soft, almost hopeless.

"That we love him, and that he confuses us. From there, I'll wing it," she says, and Peter laughs -- shakily, but he's laughing.

"It's always been you, El," he says, hand spread on her hip, still possessive. "The first time I saw you. I've never looked at anyone else. There's never been even the idea of anyone else. You were the one. You are the one."

"Then why are you afraid?" she asks.

"Because you're the one. I can't lose you."

"Baby," she laughs. "Neal's sweet, but he's not strong enough to break us."

Peter seems easier, once he's heard that. He knows Elizabeth understands better than he does, and he trusts she's right. They fall asleep tangled together, and there is no fear in Peter and Elizabeth's bed.


	4. Chapter 4

When Peter dresses for work the next morning his hands are steady, eyes bright. He kisses Elizabeth and leaves, and when she gets to her office she sends Neal a text message that she wants to see him for lunch. He must know why; he won't tell Peter. They neither of them lie to him, but there are times when it's best simply to be silent.

"The trap was too far," Neal says when she sits down at the table, before hello or how are you. "It was, wasn't it?"

She smiles at him. "Neal, take three deep breaths."

He looks at her like she's insane, but she watches him count them, subtly, one - two - three.

"I thought you probably already knew," he says. "All the other notes I sent. I thought you had to know."

It's the first time they've ever discussed the little notes. Elizabeth is suddenly struck by the memory of that first one, the shabby legal-pad goldfish. _Mrs. Burke, you are very beautiful._

"Oh sweetie," she says, laughing. "I knew before you knew. I knew before you knew my name."

Neal seems confused. She reaches across and touches his hand, soothingly.

"Peter...isn't a terribly conscious man," she says slowly. "Not when it comes to what he feels. He knows what he thinks, and that's good, and when he knows what he feels it's not hard for him to say it. But it takes him some time. You, sweetheart, it's not that you don't know. It's that you tell yourself what to feel and then feel it, and the truth doesn't really seem to matter."

"It does, Elizabeth, it matters," he says urgently. "I didn't tell myself to feel this way."

"No, and that's why it scares you, isn't it?" she asks. It's thrilling to be two steps ahead of Neal, for once. "That's why you sent me notes."

The notes were the impulse of a boy. He's long since outgrown that, and they both know it.

"Did you show Peter?" he asks. She nods. "He didn't say anything about it."

"I told him I'd handle it," she says.

"But -- I'm not going back, for this, am I? If I were, Peter's not -- he's not cruel, he wouldn't do it this way, making me wait," Neal reasons.

"No. Peter has...a lot of thoughts about what the trap says, but prison isn't one of them."

"He thinks it's some kind of psychological attachment, doesn't he?" Neal asks, lips half-tilting in a smile. There is very little of the self-assured nothing-man he once was, not anymore. He's not even a mirror-version of Peter; now he's his own man, a compliment to her husband. Peter did this, and Elizabeth is so proud of both of them.

"He suggested it, but I don't think that's true. You know better than that," she says.

"I'll stop, if you want. With the notes. I -- just thought, before it got any worse, I needed to know."

Neal always leaps into everything head first. One day it's going to earn him a broken neck, maybe, but not today.

"This is complicated," she sighs. "It's not as easy as yes or no, Neal."

"But then it's not no," Neal says quickly. Elizabeth pats his hand.

"Peter loves you," she says quietly, and Neal is so silent it's a little unnerving. "He doesn't like that he loves you, I think. It's hard for him to imagine that he can. He feels guilty about it. He feels like it takes something from me, that he loves you."

Neal is opening his mouth to protest, so predictable, but she shakes her head and he falls quiet. The power is dizzying.

"I know it doesn't," she continues. "Peter doesn't understand how much..." she shakes her head and starts over. "I don't give my husband over lightly. To his work, yes, when I have to. To any other person -- no. That's not what this is, Neal. But he made you into...something more, he's changing you just like you're changing him, and I love what you are because of him."

Neal's staring at her like he's terrified, and his chest rises and falls very shallow, very fast. She wants to kiss him, or at the very least loosen his tie a little.

"You confuse Peter," she says. He turns his hand over, under hers, and lets her cover his palm with her fingers. Anyone watching would mistake them for lovers. "We're both...confused. Peter knew we had to answer, and that's our answer. He loves you, I love you, we're confused."

"Can I fix it?" he asks, urgent, impatient.

"I don't know," she admits. "What is it you want from us, Neal?"

There's a slow, lazy smile suddenly in place, and Elizabeth watches as Neal hits a wall, a wall of fear and panic, and so he shuts down and flicks the con man back on because like Peter, there are certain things Neal simply can't deal with. It's not fair to Neal; Elizabeth has the most objectivity of any of them, so it's easy for her not to be afraid, and she shouldn't be so disappointed that he's frightened -- but she is.

"You really want me to tell you that in public?" he asks, just the right amount of seduction in his voice. Elizabeth sighs, wonders if she's failed.

"What we have now, that's a promise," she says, continuing. Winging it was maybe not such a smart plan. "We're not going to take away caring about you. You don't have to give us anything else for that, Neal. Ever."

Behind the veneer, he's shocked. She can read that much. Peter might read more. He's shocked because aside from Mozzie, nobody has ever promised him that he got to have their friendship forever. Not even Kate promised him that. And Mozzie, god love him, is a con man too; Neal might trust Moz, might love him like a brother, but he knows what Mozzie is and he knows there's always that lurking possibility, however small, that he's lying.

Elizabeth has never once lied to Neal, and they both know it. Her word is concrete. He will not lose this. He doesn't have to pay for it. It's his.

"Then maybe it's foolish to want more," he murmurs.

"You don't strike me as someone who's ever let that stop him," she answers, and he laughs.

"So where does this leave us?" he asks.

"_Do_ you want more?" she matches his question with one of her own. He looks for a minute like he's going to slam up the walls and hide, and maybe a year ago he would have, but this is the thing: Peter has changed him. So it's Peter's work showing when Neal calms himself down.

"Yes," he says.

"Then you need to give us time. Give Peter time," she says, and Neal nods, and they hug goodbye like they usually do and when she checks her pocket afterward --

There's a yellow origami duck in her left rear pocket. One side is covered with _yes_. Neal must have been optimistic. Either that or he's still got some other animal covered in _no_, she supposes. She likes the duck, though.

That night she tells Peter she spoke with Neal, and he freezes over the bowl of salad he's tossing.

"That was fast," he says, after a while. He picks up the bowl like he doesn't know what to do with it, puts it down again. "He didn't say anything to me about it."

"You didn't say anything to him about it," she points out. She's enjoying this, just a little. Peter is sexy when he's confident and on top of everything, but he's easier to love when he's just a little off his game.

"What did he say to you about it?" he asks, still not looking at her. She moves to stand next to him and take his hand, his left in her right.

"He's not lying to himself. I think he wishes it were a lie. He understands what he has now. He knows it's foolish to want more. But he does. If we don't, I think he won't bring it up again."

"He'll try to protect himself," Peter says, eyes straight ahead. He knows Neal. He knows what it means to tell Neal _no_, for good or ill. "We'll lose him."

"Maybe," she agrees. "I told him we needed time. I think he understood."

"Will time help?" Peter asks. "Should we talk about this? Should we just...think about it? I don't...I love _you_," he insists, again.

Elizabeth rolls her eyes. This is going to be a hard push, but harder for him to work through it than for her to shove him into it.

"You can love both," she whispers, leaning into his arm. "I'm not scared. Are you scared? If I love him, will I stop loving you?"

"No, but you're..."

_You're kinder than he is,_ one of Neal's notes had said.

"It's easier for you," Peter says, which she probably should find a little insulting, but she understands him. It's always been easier for her to understand her feelings, and Peter is so singleminded in some things that he believes he is that way in everything. Peter thinks normal people can increase their love, but he can only divide his, and he sees that as a net loss for Elizabeth, for his own sense of self.

"Can it hurt to try?" she asks, gently.

"How...?" he looks at her now, finally looks at her, and she can tell he's uncertain of what she even means.

She is confident this will work. In reality it has already been working, practically since Peter started chasing Neal years ago.

"You know how he feels, now. You know more about how you feel. Just...pay attention to that. And see if anything changes," she suggests. Peter exhales, hard, a mixture of despair and determination. "Sweetie, you're allowed to enjoy it."

That earns her a smile. "Why don't we just enjoy dinner for now," he says. Elizabeth has now beaten Neal at the game of trust-me and Peter at telling-the-truth, so she's 2 and 0 with her boys and yeah, she can give Peter a calm, quiet, rational dinner.

After dinner, she leaves him to mess around in the kitchen for a while, washing dishes and putting things away, hoping the act of cleaning will help him get his thoughts in order too. When he comes upstairs, he undresses, settles in next to her where she's reading in bed.

"I don't think..." he starts, and then stops. "Thinking about this isn't going to actually get anything done."

Peter is very goal oriented. She blames all the competitive sports he played in high school.

"What do you think should get done?" she asks.

"This needs to be resolved."

"And...?"

He gives her a blank look. She wishes he could have seen himself, in the years he was chasing Neal, really seen himself.

"Do you see any way this works where we're a hundred percent happy with it?" she asks.

"No," he answers.

"What would make us most happy?"

She can see his eyes unfocus, and knows what's going on in his mind. He's making cost-analysis charts, drawing up graphs, maybe writing a timeline. But love isn't about cost-analysis, so she kisses him to distract him.

It works; he goes automatically into her arms, and they shift and settle into the bed. He's warm and heavy against her body, all hers, and she wonders honestly if she could share this. She's had Peter to herself for so long. He moves down, slowly, rests his head on her stomach, kissing, breathing; he loves the smooth skin there, she knows, likes just to be close to her in ways nobody else can be. She threads her fingers in his hair and thinks, while he loses himself for a little while.

Neal is the absolute worst person in the world to invite into a relationship. He doesn't know how to ask for what he wants, he takes things he shouldn't, he won't trust without proofs, he pushes boundaries to get those proofs. He's impulsive, and he either doesn't care about consequences or doesn't have the capability to anticipate them.

But he also loves unreservedly when he does love, and he's circumspect, and he would give anything up to protect them. They could be good for him, too; he's lonely and damaged, and still learning how to be a man.

Peter kisses along her hip, one warm palm sliding up her thigh, and for the first time she allows herself to picture it -- Neal's luminous, covetous eyes watching, Neal's hands on her body alongside Peter's, or Neal's hand's on Peter's body. She rocks up against Peter, feels his smile against her skin, and he makes her come once, twice, with this ghost in their bed, a ghost becoming more real by the day.

No. Thinking about this won't solve anything. Either they have to say no, or they have to try, and when Peter pulls her close and won't quite look her in the eye, she knows he knows it too.

Saying no has never really been an option.

She wonders how long it will take Peter to work that out.


	5. Chapter 5

Neal is perfectly well-behaved in the following weeks, or as close to it as he ever comes. Elizabeth doesn't see him much, aside from the occasional lunch with Peter, but she can hear in Peter's tone (and tell, when they're in bed together) how frustrated he is with it.

Time was, Peter would be overjoyed to have a well-behaved Neal Caffrey heeling at his side. It's different now, though, because Peter knows how challenging Neal can be and how _fun_ it is to make him toe the line. Neal is not challenging Peter at the moment, not pushing -- he's docile. Peter, in the secrecy of his head where he thinks Elizabeth can't see, worries that Neal is going passive, that the work will suffer, that somehow he has managed to break his favorite toy.

Elizabeth just worries that when one of them finally snaps, they'll be in public. Because she can see what Neal is doing -- he's running away the only way he knows how, by pulling into himself, begging Peter to chase him down. Peter is waiting for Neal to screw up or act out or even just push a little too far, and then he can shove him back into place hard enough for the unanswered question of what they are to each other to resolve itself. Peter is fond of proof; this is a test he's giving himself, to see what he feels, and Neal meanwhile is blocking that test with the best of intentions. When one of them goes too far, the result will be explosive, and possibly indecent.

She feels like a spectator at a chess tournament. Interested, yes, and every time someone makes a move there's a breathless silence that follows, but in the end it's a little boring.

Either Neal has to give in to temptation or Peter has to stop worrying so much. The former is much easier and quite a lot more likely than the latter. Peter does love his evidence, and Neal likes to steal things. The trick is, she supposes, to figure out just how far Neal can push Peter without pushing himself right back into prison.

Clearly, a job for a lawyer.

For a long time she had no way of getting in touch with Mozzie without going through Neal (or through Peter, who would go through Neal anyway) but eventually she weaseled an email address out of him, one of his dozens of aliases: d.haversham. She contacts d.haversham about "services as a legal advisor" and Mozzie's face when he shows up at her office the next day is _priceless_: gleeful, curious, intrigued.

He doffs his hat to her assistants and kisses her hand. Mozzie, like Neal, can't resist chivalry as long as it costs him nothing (Neal can't resist it even when it costs him everything). El takes his proffered arm and leads him out of the office, down the street to a hot dog vendor's cart.

"The allure of al fresco cookery," Mozzie remarks, and takes out his wallet. "One with everything."

"My treat," Elizabeth says, and Mozzie shrugs and puts his wallet away. No pretense; she likes that about him. "Make it two. No onions on one. I wouldn't think you'd eat street food," she adds, turning back to Mozzie.

"It's a cultural thing," Mozzie replies. "When in Rome and all that. Plus there's a delightful aura of risk about it."

Elizabeth laughs. "Point taken. Here," she adds, and passes him his hot dog.

They sit on a bench nearby, vacant in the mid-afternoon quiet, and Mozzie turns to her, wiping mustard off the corner of his mouth.

"I assume this is about Neal," he says.

"Neal and Peter," she replies, and Mozzie gives her one of those looks that says he's a lot sharper than most people would believe.

"Not to sound like I'm defending a pal, but nothing's going on between them," he tells her. "I'd know."

"Yet," she responds. "And you wouldn't bring it up if you hadn't seen the potential."

Mozzie's concern deepens. "You think the Suit would risk, if you'll excuse the bluntness, losing a woman like you for a guy like Neal?" he asks.

She shakes her head. "It's a lot more complicated than that."

And, unbidden, she finds herself telling Mozzie, if not everything, then very nearly. How Peter has always reacted strongly, without realizing it, to the chase; how Neal used to send her little origami love notes; how Neal brought the whole thing to a head.

"That sounds like Neal," Mozzie sighs. "Greedy and pushy. He always did need to learn more subtlety. How's the Suit taking it?"

"Confused," Elizabeth answers. "Peter's not good at knowing what he wants."

"What do _you_ want?" Mozzie asks her, which is interesting because of the three men now involved in this, it's the first time anyone's asked that. Neal and Peter have both offered her things, but that was _if you want_ \-- I'll stop if you want, I'll stop him if you want. She hadn't even thought about this herself.

What _does_ she want?

"I want Peter to be happy," she says. "I want Neal to feel loved."

Mozzie regards her keenly, even as he chews on a bite of hot dog.

"You think we're nice guys," he says, after a while. "Me and Neal, the people we run with. We try to be. I'm a people person, and Neal likes being liked. But we're not always nice. We're not as tame as the Suit thinks we are. When Neal got into this mess -- and it is a mess, don't kid yourself -- I could have talked him into running if I didn't like the look of you. You and the Suit, I mean. Sometimes I have to look out for Neal when he won't look out for himself, and if I thought he was going to get hurt -- well. Anyway," he says, and looks down at his food. "Doesn't actually matter, because you wouldn't. Suit's decent, for a pawn of the Man. I trust you. Like you, even. So let me put it this way, because I could have predicted you'd say you want people to be happy, good people always say that: do you want Neal?"

Elizabeth feels like she's been punched in the chest. So this is what Peter is feeling, probably -- this surprise, this fear.

Still, in some things Elizabeth is much braver than her husband.

"Yes," she says.

"Good," Mozzie answers. "So -- and I can't believe I'm saying this, but -- how can I help?"

\---

Leonardo da Vinci is too much temptation for Neal to resist, although he has until now, because he must know this is here. It's been advertised all over Manhattan and she knows Neal keeps tabs on what's coming and going from the museums. He wouldn't miss this, even if it's outside his radius. She's surprised he hasn't already asked Peter if he can go.

The exhibit is a series of loans -- from the Accademia in Venice, from the Institut de France, two from the National Gallery in London -- four beautiful pages from Leonardo's notebooks. The Accademia wouldn't send Vitruvian Man, but they've sent a very nice anatomical study of a skull.

In the middle of the day the museum is eerily empty, and to preserve the pages the lights are very dim. In this little black-walled room with low light and four tall glass display cases, it feels like the darkness stretches out forever. They might be the only real things in the universe, them and the guard at the doorway. Elizabeth stares at the drawings, entranced; Mozzie is watching the guard.

"This is outside his radius," she says softly, admiring the sweep of a mechanical wing on the page from the Institut de France. It's a flying machine, one that the placard below it says would never work.

"That's what makes it perfect," Mozzie responds. Elizabeth tilts her head at him through the glass case. "He can't come here. He can't actually commit a crime."

"But you have a plan," she says.

"I do," he agrees. "If your husband caught Neal forging a Leonardo, that would be the catalyst you're looking for, wouldn't it?"

"I think so," she answers, and she's beginning to see the drift of his thoughts now. If Mozzie told Neal he could get him these pages, Neal would take that bait; he'd make the forgeries and let his good friend Mozzie pull the switch at the museum. And if Peter found a forgery, even half-completed -- well, _something_ would give.

"Listen, I gotta ask," Mozzie says, "are you sure you want to kickstart this? Because odds are heavy that you'd get what you want, but it might make the Suit realize it isn't worth the risk. And the dark horse is that he throws Neal to the dogs."

"Not if he wants to stay married, he won't," Elizabeth says sweetly.

"You are Machiavellian, Mrs. Suit," Mozzie tells her admiringly. "You should have married the guy who robbed your gallery, not the guy who caught the robber."

"My fed's a little more stable," she replies, moving on to the skull from the Accademia. "And the guy who robbed the gallery never asked me out for Italian, what with being in prison and all. So," she says, turning to Mozzie fully, crossing her arms. "What do you need from me?"

"We offer full services," Mozzie answers. "Just keep your eye on the Suit."

"And what do I owe you?"

"For the opportunity to con Neal Caffrey and get away with it? _Pro bono, signora_," Mozzie says, with an exaggerated Italian inflection and an impudent look. Elizabeth smiles at him.

Maybe this is dangerous, and maybe there is more at stake now than when Neal first walked into their lives and spent all his time flirting like a boy. Even so, she can't help the old thrill that runs down her spine: this is still going to be _fun_.


	6. Chapter 6

Elizabeth did not expect, when the inevitable explosion came, it would happen directly in front of her.

It's _delicious._

She comes home one night, two weeks after her illicit meeting with Mozzie in the park, and she knows that whatever stunt Mozzie pulled has worked. The house smells like garlic and tomatoes and she finds Peter in the kitchen, making pasta for dinner. She knows their plan has worked because she kisses him hello and he pins her to the counter, hips rubbing leisurely up against hers, arms on either side of her as they kiss.

They've talked about this now, about what Neal does to him and how he reacts when Neal makes trouble, but Peter still doesn't seem to be aware of it as she curls her legs around his waist and lets him lift her up and hike up her skirt. He just pushes her underwear aside and runs a hand up her thigh, fingers inside her, thumb rubbing her clit. He watches with intense scrutiny as she comes.

When she's caught her breath she kisses him again and they make it to the couch, shedding clothes along the way. By the time they've finished, sweaty and breathless, the pasta is ruined.

Peter doesn't talk about what, if anything, happened at work to set this off, but Elizabeth knows. She rests her head on his chest and listens to his heartbeat, and she loves him so much. All the better because her brilliant, inquisitive, beloved husband has found this shiny, interesting thing, Neal Caffrey, and sooner or later he's going to bring him home to her like a present. That's how Peter is: if he loves something he wants to give it to her, because he loves her best.

(This has led to one or two very unusual Christmas gifts, over the years.)

The next night, Peter brings Neal home from work with him, along with two huge bags of Thai food. Neal is his usual charming self, not a hint of what's going on under the surface, and Peter seems quietly satisfied -- probably whatever case they're working on is going well -- so Elizabeth enjoys her meal. And, under the table, runs her foot up Peter's leg, subtly.

Peter, however, has other concerns, as she discovers when they finish dinner. While Neal is pushing a piece of shrimp around on his plate with his fork and Elizabeth is contemplating whether she wants dessert, Peter reaches into his jacket, hung on the back of the chair, and takes out a folded piece of paper.

No, parchment. Yellow, ragged parchment, folded in quarters. Elizabeth glances at Neal, whose eyes keenly track every movement of Peter's hands as he unfolds it and sets it on the table between the three of them, smoothing the creases out with his thumb.

It's -- not the flying machine from the Institut de Paris. Mozzie never planned to make the switch, she knows that. Mozzie doesn't lie to Elizabeth. But it looks like it, down to the uneven coloring on the ink, and Elizabeth almost reaches out to save it from where one corner of the parchment is being dunked in a little bit of spilled soy sauce.

"You want to tell me about this?" Peter asks Neal, who is staring at the parchment like it's his death sentence. Neal looks up and an easy smile graces his face so quickly Elizabeth wonders if she imagined the earlier expression.

"To learn from the masters, you copy the masters," he says. And then, oh so casually, "Where'd you find that?"

"Where do you think?" Peter challenges. Neal is silent. A muscle working in his jaw is the only movement.

"Maybe I should walk Satchmo," Elizabeth murmurs, with absolutely no intention of going anywhere.

"No, I want Neal to explain this to both of us," Peter says. He presses a hand over the paper and she can see Neal wince -- fingerprints and soy sauce, there's no way it's of any use now. "I know the original is in New York right now. You were going to steal -- "

"I wasn't going to steal anything," Neal's head lifts, rebellious, defiant.

"So Mozzie was going to steal it," Peter retorts. Neal says nothing. "You -- you want -- " he's furious and incoherent in the way only Peter can be, where the only thing betraying his anger is his voice. "You want to be part of this, you want to send love letters to my wife, to me, and then you do this?" he asks, picking up the parchment. "Are you _serious_, Neal?"

"Moz said Elizabeth liked it," Neal mutters. Elizabeth could kiss Mozzie right on the mouth. Peter stares openly at Neal. "He said he needed the money he could get from the skull and I could have the other one for Elizabeth."

"Sweetie," Elizabeth says, because Peter has been shocked into silence, "if you want to give me something nice, I really would prefer that you didn't commit a felony for it. I hear they have posters in the gift shop."

Both men turn to stare at her.

"Or you could have just given me the copy," she adds. It's so very hard not to laugh at them. _So_ hard.

Peter looks a little incredulous but he turns away from her, finally (Neal can't seem to move) and takes a second piece of parchment out. This one, the skull, is only half-complete. He lays it on top of the first and slides them towards Neal. Elizabeth winces as the soy sauce stain spreads.

"Burn them," Peter says. Neal finally turns away from her, opening his mouth, but Peter isn't going to be moved in this, she can tell.

"That's two weeks of -- "

"Burn them or this is done."

There it is, out in the open. This is what Peter will ask of Neal: to remember that Peter will always catch him if he tries to con or tries to run; to show that Peter and Elizabeth are more important than the thrill of a con.

But this is also what Peter is saying: there is an implicit _yes_ in the offer. She's not sure Peter's even conscious of the fact that he has told Neal that if he burns the parchment, he can have what he's been asking for.

Neal picks up the sheets and folds them carefully, tucking them between his index and middle finger and holding them up. His face is so serious, his voice low and solid.

"Got a match?" he says.

Peter jerks his head at the back door, and Neal stands and leaves, quietly, efficiently. There's a fire pit in the backyard, and Neal knows where they keep the lighter for it. When the door shuts, Peter leans forward and rests his head in his hands. He exhales hard, like it cost him something big to do that.

"How can we trust him?" he asks softly. Elizabeth strokes his arm, eases one of them down to twine her fingers with his.

"You know he'd never hurt us," she tells him. "And you know that every time he does something stupid, you'll catch him. And I think if he actually knew he had someone to betray, he'd think twice about betraying them. Don't you?"

Peter looks sidelong at her, but there's dry humor in his expression. "I'm sorry, are you saying it's our fault he did this?"

It is her fault. Kind of. Not that Peter needs to know that. Neal definitely doesn't.

"I'm saying, maybe if he had a sure thing he'd be risking, he wouldn't take the risk," she says.

There is a beautiful look of determination that crosses Peter's face. Like he isn't sure he's going to enjoy it, but if that's what it takes, he'll go the distance. She lets go of his hand as he stands and walks to one of the windows that looks out on the backyard. She can see parts of Neal -- the back of his head, a shoulder, an arm with the sleeve rolled up -- and she can see Peter's fingers twitching.

When Neal comes back inside, the air that blows through the dining room smells like smoke. Peter turns; Neal is standing in front of the door, poised and expectant, like he isn't sure what's coming but he's ready to run if he doesn't like it.

Peter takes two steps towards him and grasps the knot of his tie, fingers hooking in his collar. It's the closest she's seen him come to physical violence in a long time, but instead of punching the daylights out of Neal (she didn't really think he would) Peter pulls him roughly forward and kisses him. Every line of tension goes out of Neal's body and he practically claws at Peter's shirt for purchase, because he's off-balance and Peter still, essentially, has him by the throat.

Elizabeth just turns ever so slightly in her chair and watches the show. She recognizes the tension in Peter's body; it's the same overwhelming urgency she's seen in him for years now, whenever Neal set him off.

_Enjoy it_, she thinks, though Neal doesn't seem to need any encouragement there -- he's shuffling forward and into Peter, who is not going to give an inch. _Your turn._

They are beautiful together. And then Peter shoves Neal back, hard, and he turns to her and Neal turns to her and she just smiles.

"Do I get to join in?" she asks.

Neal licks his lips and looks to Peter. Peter comes forward and Elizabeth stands to go to him, to take his body against hers and hold his head with one hand, soothing, because she senses that Peter is seriously freaking out.

"If you hurt her," Peter says, into her hair even if he's talking to Neal, "if you hurt us, it'll be the last thing you do."

She kisses him to shut him up before he says something that will ruin this, and turns in his arms to hold out her other hand to Neal, who isn't moving.

"You're so," Neal says, and then starts again. "Can I."

She wonders where all his suave con lines have gone.

Peter lets go of her reluctantly, watches as she walks to Neal and pulls his head down for a kiss. His hands go to her hips on instinct, and she hears Peter exhale again, behind her.

Kissing Neal Caffrey is a little like dying only in that the last ten years of her life are flashing before her eyes. He used to be just a name, then a case file Peter brought home; then he was that ridiculous child at his hearing, a boy she wouldn't waste time on because next to her husband he was less than nothing. Then the birthday cards from prison, and the slick ghost who showed up on their doorstep, and then slowly, slowly, he was _real_, and maybe even honest. Someone Peter could be proud of, someone she could love. She has seen Neal every time Peter broke him so that he'd be stronger, and every time he almost broke Peter.

Elizabeth doesn't even realize Peter has moved until warm arms come around her from behind and Neal makes a surprised noise and jerks back, like he thinks Peter has finally realized just how insane this whole idea is. Peter catches him by the collar again, before he can get very far.

"Was she done with you?" Peter asks. Neal stares at him in wide shock for a moment, but then he looks down at Elizabeth and his grin is the most honest she's ever seen it.

"Were you done with me, Elizabeth?" he asks.

"For now," she says, amused. "Peter can have you for now if he promises to return you in good condition."

Neal raises his eyebrows at Peter. Elizabeth steps a little to one side as Peter tugs on Neal's collar -- Neal's going to be annoyed about the rumpling later, when he stops to think about it, she imagines -- and begins walking backwards, towards the stairs, coaxing Neal along like a willing puppy.

This is better than porn.

At the foot of the stairs Peter presses a kiss to Neal's lips, chaste, and lets go of his shirt. Neal starts up the stairs -- she can hear him, Peter must have told him to go -- but he stops on the third or fourth step. There they are: Elizabeth still standing in the living room, looking at her husband but unable to see Neal; Peter at the foot of the stairs, in view of them both; Neal, hesitating, waiting for them, can't see her.

"Go," Peter says, and then holds out his hand for Elizabeth, waiting until she's started up the stairs before he follows.

They have perfected the art of making out while climbing stairs, which must be nice for Neal to see while he stands on the landing. At any rate he's staring at them when she finally breaks away from Peter and looks up. She shoos him up the last few steps and ignores his hesitation in the bedroom doorway, tugging him inside. His collar is crumpled and his tie has come loose from the pin holding it to his shirt and he still smells like smoke and he is beautiful. Even more perfect is Peter's arm around Neal's waist from behind, and the way he says "Kiss her," into the nape of Neal's neck.

Neal is tense, trying too hard now, pushing too fast.

"Babe," she says into Neal's mouth, while Peter's hands are busy unbuckling Neal's belt, "relax. This is the fun part."

Peter laughs a little, and Neal moans.

Later, she'll tell Neal about all the times he inadvertently improved their sex life. While Peter sleeps, perhaps, or she'll take him to lunch and explain it all then.

Right now, she's going to enjoy having Neal here in the flesh, instead of just in Peter's head.


	7. Chapter 7

Elizabeth is naked, and her husband is naked, and she's lying on her side watching her husband kiss yet a third naked person on their bed.

Neal is terrible to try and pin down. He squirms. There are two of them and one of him and it still took both of them to get him undressed because he kept twisting to kiss whichever person he hadn't kissed in a while. As soon as she took her shirt off he tried to get his hands all over her (not that she minded) and as soon as Peter took his shirt off Neal tried the same thing with him. She thought he'd calm down when she pulled him onto the bed with her, but he kept shifting like he wasn't sure what he wanted, like he wanted everything at once.

Thankfully, Peter is a very direct man, and he tugged Neal away from her and pinned him on his back and held him there until Neal finally stopped moving. Possibly this had something to do with Elizabeth's hand on his cock, but she can't take full credit.

Peter and Neal are fighting it out, kissing like the winner gets a prize, and Peter has one of Neal's arms pinned over his head while his other hand skates up and down Neal's ribcage. Elizabeth is mostly just watching, though every once in a while she flicks her wrist and Neal -- well, there's no other word for it, Neal whimpers. There's something very satisfying about it.

At some point Peter stops, eases back a little and nuzzles Neal's throat, worrying the sharp jut of his collarbone with his teeth. Neal reaches out with his free hand and tangles it in Elizabeth's hair, turning his head so that he can look at her and reap the benefit of Peter's mouth at the same time.

"You're so beautiful," he breathes, and Elizabeth smiles. That was the first thing Neal ever said to her: _you're very beautiful_. She kisses him as a reward. "There's so much," he starts, when she leans back, then swallows and groans (Peter must have found a sensitive spot; he's good at that) and continues. "So much I want..."

They're kissing again, a little more intent this time, when she hears Peter rumble against Neal's skin. "Are you clean?"

Neal laughs into Elizabeth's mouth. "Would you believe me if I said yes?"

"Try me," Peter responds. Neal leans back, shifting again, looking up at Peter.

"I was clean when I got out," he says. "There's been no one since then."

This is -- well, a little startling. Peter sits back, surprised, and Elizabeth knows the same emotion is in her face.

"No one?" Peter asks.

"Who would there have been?" Neal responds.

"But really?" Peter seems baffled by this.

"You don't need to sound so incredulous," Neal says, a little indignant. "I was faithful. Then I was mourning, and then there was you. If you don't believe me, you guys must have..." he waves a hand vaguely at the nightstand. Peter shakes his head.

"Why would we?" Elizabeth asks.

"We didn't want kids," Peter says, which is true -- she's never felt especially maternal and Peter gets nervous around small children. She's about to explain to Neal what exactly he means, that they don't need to keep condoms around, when Peter makes a snipping gesture with his fingers. "Years ago."

Elizabeth covers her face with her hands. Trust Peter to ruin the moment. Neal, however, seems to be digesting this carefully.

"I can wait," he says, finally. "If you want proof. I mean -- I hope not for everything, but..."

Elizabeth presses a thumb to his mouth. "Maybe for Peter. I trust you."

"She trusts you, I trust you," Peter adds. Neal inhales, lips parting a little against her thumb. This is strangely intimate, the fact that Neal has said this and Peter has said the other. No secrets.

It's easy to forget how strong Neal is. Easier when he's not one naked stretch of muscle and skin, true, but even then she isn't expecting Neal to flip Peter so effortlessly. Peter apparently isn't expecting it either; he goes over with a whuff of surprise, staring at Neal -- Neal, who is now straddling Peter, even if one of Peter's hands is still around his wrist. Neal pulls free, gently, and slides down Peter's body. Elizabeth watches with wide eyes as Neal licks Peter's cock, a quick swipe of his pretty tongue, and then goes down on him with the same sharp quickness he just used to flip him. Peter arches and sucks in a breath.

"You're -- " he starts, and then swallows and bucks again, turning his head to find Elizabeth. "He's really good at this."

She catches Neal's smile as he pulls away for a second, licks the corner of his mouth and winks at her, and then goes back to making Peter groan. She threads her fingers with Peter's and watches. It isn't often she gets to see this without being more a part of it, and sometimes a little objectivity is a wonderful thing.

Peter's breathing hard, and by the time he goes silent she knows he's close, but she's not sure Neal does and Peter's in no condition to explain. She lets go of his hand and tugs on Neal's hair, gently.

"Sweetheart," she says quietly. Neal stops, lets her pull his head up, goes with it. Peter raises both hands to his face, trying to regain his composure.

"What -- oh," Neal says, looking from her to Peter, understanding dawning. He grins at Elizabeth and then gently runs a single finger down the underside of Peter's cock. Peter's whole body arches.

Elizabeth gives Neal a smug look. Neal is concentrating hard, though, taking in every detail like he's going to be tested later, or like he might only have the one chance at this. Peter is so far beyond verbal it's almost funny. Neal traces his thumbnail back up Peter's cock and the only sound he gets is a sharp breath.

She slings an arm around Neal's body, breasts pressing up against the smooth warm skin of his back, and guides his hand down, fingers aligned with his. Together they touch Peter, a smooth motion as she wraps Neal's fingers around his cock, down and then up and slowly down --

Peter bucks, mouth open but silent, and comes hard, hips pushing up against Neal's hand holding him down. It's immediate and urgent and by the time he's done he's breathing so hard that's noise on its own.

"He has his moments," Elizabeth says softly, in Neal's ear.

"If I'd known..." Neal swallows audibly. "If I'd known I would have let him catch me the first time I saw him."

"That wouldn't have been any fun," she tells him. Neal turns to look at her like he's seeing her for the first time, and he twists further around to kiss her. Hard and insistent and desperate, kissing her, and she pulls him away from Peter, down into the blankets without protest -- though she thinks she hears Peter mumble "Wha...?" when their bodies hit the bed.

"I thought," Neal says, still kissing her, nuzzling her throat, his body a heavy weight on her hips, "how did he get her? She can't actually be his wife, how the hell does a man like him keep a woman like her -- "

"He caught you, didn't he?" she asks, clutching his hair while he mouths at her breast, "Oh, Neal -- "

"This was before," he says into her skin, already moving against her, cock rubbing against her thigh. "First time I saw you -- staked him out -- creepy, in retrospect -- "

"Just a little," she agrees, wondering when. She'll ask him later. But he's frozen, worried now, and she laughs. "It's okay, baby," she says softly. "I don't care."

"Are you sure -- "

"Neal," she says, forcing his head up. Next to her, Peter stirs and reaches out, holding it there with his big palm cupped under Neal's cheek. Neal calms a little. "Sweetie, Peter surveilled me into dating him. We all do stupid things when we're young."

Neal grins brilliant, suddenly, and glances at Peter. "Seems to be his profile."

Elizabeth curls her leg around Neal's hip and his breath hitches. Peter lets go of him and pushes himself on one elbow, though his eyes are still a little glassy.

"Her," he says gently, tipping his head at Elizabeth, and Neal nods and bends to kiss Elizabeth's jaw. She's aching, wants him desperately and doesn't want to wait for Neal to be a romantic, not tonight; he hitches again when she grasps his cock, moans low and smooth as she guides him into her.

He keeps repeating her name as he moves -- _Elizabeth, Elizabeth_ \-- and Peter is kissing the skin just under her ear, and she thinks he has a hand on Neal's back, helping him. It's a lot, suddenly, it's so many years to take all three of them to this point, and not a lot of that has been as good for Neal as for them. He feels like he's breaking in her arms, but he's good and _new_ and much louder than Peter has ever been. She turns her head to find her husband's mouth and sees that he's thinking the same thing. He looks startled, and it makes her laugh, and that sends shudders through her body. Neal's hand dips between her legs and it takes about two seconds for her to come, trying not to laugh at the same time, because Neal isn't laughing -- he's almost sobbing through his orgasm, forehead pressed to her shoulder, still saying her name.

She pets his hair through the last of it, making soft reassuring noises, kissing his ear (the only part of him she can reach). Peter's hand is still resting in the small of his back.

"Hey," she whispers in Neal's ear. "Fun part, remember?"

Neal slowly lifts himself up, looking down at her. His eyes are bright, mouth grinning wide.

"Well, it was fun for me," he says, and she hears Peter laugh. Peter's hand slides up Neal's back and grasps his neck, pulling him over for a kiss. From here she can look up and see them, foreheads pressed together, eyes closed.

"I love you," Neal says. "I know, it's stupid and romantic and awkward -- "

"Shh," Peter interrupts, and Neal falls silent. "It's okay."

He pushes Neal just enough to get him to lie down, and Elizabeth curls up around his back again, leg sliding up over his, toes pressing gently on the ankle monitor. She can feel Peter's arm curving under Neal's, secure, all three of them together.

"It's good," Peter murmurs. "It's going to be good."

"Yeah?" Neal asks.

"Yeah. Good," Peter says.

Elizabeth presses her smile into the nape of Neal's neck. She waits only long enough for Neal to exhale with relief and settle deeper into their arms before she drifts off to sleep.


	8. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um, I thought this fic was done. Turns out it had an epilogue, it just took me a while to write it. Oops.

Peter and Neal spend every day together, at work. It's just as well; Peter's more patient than Elizabeth, and Neal can be exhausting. She doesn't really ask much about what they get up to at work. She assumes that if it's important, one of them will tell her (probably Peter; Neal still hasn't been completely broken to truthfulness). She has her own work to focus on.

Neal's presence in their house is not unusual. She thinks they've been conditioning the US Marshals all this time, because when their association, their friendship, turns intimate, the _timing_ doesn't change. He can't often stay the night, because that does look suspicious, but a few hours, a few times a week, that slips right past the official radar.

Work is time for Peter and Neal. Evenings, when he comes over, it's time for Peter and Elizabeth and Neal. Neal is skittish and uncertain occasionally, but then he always has been, and Peter never puts up with that for long. Peter calms him, puts him into his place, proves his place in their lives.

There are rare nights where Neal stays in their bed the whole night, lanky and naked, curled up between them. And very early mornings, when Neal wakes and nuzzles into her shoulder, kisses her hair, those are for Neal and Elizabeth only. Peter, dead to the world until his alarm goes off, sleeps still and silent nearby. Elizabeth and Neal lie facing each other, heads close together, talking just for them.

He tells her stories; she's not under the obligation Peter is to be legal and upstanding. Well, she is, but she doesn't pay any attention to it, not like Peter does. After a few hesitant false starts, Neal will tell her about the crimes he's committed. It's like they're little jewels, presented to her in gold, because their time together is precious, will never be enough until he's out of the anklet and people aren't _watching_ them anymore.

And maybe he likes to have someone to tell.

"I once posed as a prince," he says one morning, around a yawn. "I flew to Belgium on a private jet. It wasn't mine."

"Whose was it?" she asks, tucking her head up against his.

"It was this old-money type, this guy who wanted me to meet his daughter," he says. "I was more interested in his collection of Monet sketches. Not that valuable -- relatively -- "

"Of course," she answers.

" -- but so beautiful."

She can't help but be charmed that Neal steals for beauty.

"What was it like?" she asks, and Neal tells her about the polished wood and brass fixtures, the leather seats, the food and expensive booze. The daughter, too, beautiful and wickedly clever, willing to use him to throw her daddy off the scent of her Belgian girlfriend. He tells her how this young woman told him, _he's an ass, take what you want from him_, and how he did.

"Will you tell Peter?" he asks her, another time, after recounting some other story he really shouldn't be telling her.

"No," she says. "But someday you will."

He laughs softly. "Statute of limitations. Maybe. I don't want to make him angry."

"Oh, love," she murmurs, gazing past him to where Peter is sprawled on his back, a handsome silhouette against the sunrise. "He won't be angry."

"Maybe," Neal repeats, still uncertain.

"Should I tell you a story?" she asks, pushing herself up on one elbow. He composes himself to listen like a child, face alight.

"What about?" he says.

She considers it, which story would be best.

"The first time he met you, he didn't know who you were," she tells him. "That bank?"

"Right, in midtown," he says, smiling.

"They didn't know at first that the bonds you cashed were fakes. When they figured it out, two days later, one of the tellers sat with a sketch artist, and Peter saw the sketch and realized he'd talked to you," she continues. "You with your messy hair and your green candy sucker."

"I'd never met a Fed before," Neal admits. "I wanted him to remember me."

"Why?"

"Dunno," he shrugs against the pillow. "Maybe I wanted someone worth running from, for once."

Peter shifts behind them, turns over and bumps into Neal, muttering sleepily, face pressed to Neal's back. Elizabeth holds up a finger to her lips. If Neal speaks, he'll wake Peter.

"He came home and said, _I met him, El_," she whispers. "That's all he said, that he met you, and then he kissed me, and it was like...boom. We'd just moved here, hadn't even finished unpacking yet. He kissed me and we went down on the couch, fell on the floor and laughed, and..." she laughs again, remembering. "We had sex on the living room floor. He bit me when I came," she recalls.

Neal, carefully, touches a small bruise just above his collarbone. Peter has a thing about marking what he loves. Elizabeth doesn't mind it; Neal seems to revel in it.

For so long, she has wanted Neal to understand. About Peter, about her. That he belonged to them before they knew his name. He doesn't yet, but oh, he will. She'll make sure of it.

"Every year, when you sent him those cards," she says, rubbing Neal's hair, loving the soft, drugged look that comes into his eyes. "We'd go to bed and make love for _hours_. Remember the art boxes I sent you?"

Neal nods slowly.

"That was for the way Peter fucked me when you sent him those cards," she whispers. Neal's breathing hitches, and she can feel him half-hard against her thigh. "With his tongue."

Neal makes a soft noise, then risks speaking -- "You sent me ink and brushes. Good paper, really good paper. Expensive pencils. Pastels. I didn't know who had sent it at first, I didn't know anyone who'd send me that, and when I figured it out I -- I thought, why would she do that? For me? I wondered if it was pity."

"No, sweetheart," she murmurs, as Peter stirs again.

"S'goin' on?" Peter asks, crawling up over Neal, propping his arms on Neal's shoulder as if he were a large, warm pillow. "Hmmm," he adds, sliding one hand down Neal's hip and burrowing into his neck. Neal twists, leaning back into it, and Peter looks up at Elizabeth, smiling. She can feel his knuckles brush her thigh as he strokes Neal hard; Neal's eyes slide shut and his head tips back against Peter's shoulder. Elizabeth lies there, quiet, and enjoys the show. They both like to show off for her.

\---

It's a month before Neal can stay the night again. When he does, she wakes excited, like it's Christmas. Neal's leaning on Peter's chest, head rising and falling as Peter inhales, exhales. He's watching her, across Peter, with light in his pretty blue eyes. When he sees she's awake, he smiles, a conspirator's smile. She curls up into Peter, listens to his heartbeat as Neal talks soft and low. Peter doesn't stir; he's had a long few days.

"I staked him out," Neal says, cheek pressed to Peter's chest. "I was fascinated. Mozzie got me a food cart, I didn't tell him what it was for. I sold big pretzels across from Federal Plaza and watched him come and go."

"Why?" she asks.

"He was my Fed. I wanted to know everything about him. And then the second day I was there, he came down the steps and met you at the bottom and my jaw dropped, because I'd been watching you too."

She beams at him. This would be creepy, but it's Neal, and anyway she married the last man who put her under surveillance.

"I was wondering who you were waiting for," he said. "You had two sack lunches. Then Peter came out and you sat down on the steps together and kissed. I just -- you were _so_ beautiful, and I didn't know him yet, not really. I couldn't figure the two of you out." He pauses. "Sometimes I'm still not sure I have."

Elizabeth kisses Peter's warm skin. "Well, you have a lot of time."

Neal nods, but his expression is distant. "I remember wanting that so badly."

"Wanting what, sweetie?"

"I wasn't..." he seems to be figuring something out, so she waits. "It was before Kate. She had a boyfriend then. I was lonely. I wanted someone to sit and eat lunch with. He looked at you like the world revolved around you. I wanted someone to look at me that way." He smooths a hand down Peter's chest, too light to wake him. "Maybe I wanted him to look at me that way, even then. Or you. Wouldn't have mattered, just...I wanted what you had. I did have it, eventually. With Kate. For a little while. I haven't had it in a really long time."

"But you do now," she says softly. "You have us."

Neal turns his face into Peter's skin, and doesn't reply. Eventually they sleep again; it's a Saturday, no reason to be up early.

On Monday she comes down to Federal Plaza with sack lunches, and she and Peter and Neal sit on the steps and eat sandwiches, and Neal glows with pleasure. Peter seems confused, but it's good for him. Keeps him on his toes.

\---

There is one morning where she wakes to find Neal's broad, smooth back under her cheek; Neal's turned towards Peter and she can hear two low masculine voices, the pair of them murmuring together.

"...isn't a game," Neal is saying, and Elizabeth wonders if Peter's been asking awkward questions.

"I don't play games," Peter replies.

"I know, but -- promise me," Neal says, and Elizabeth understands; Neal wants to know he's not a plaything, not something they're just using until they lose interest.

"Why would you think that?" Peter asks, and then hurriedly says, "I promise, I promise," off some expression of Neal's she can't see.

"I want -- " Neal shivers, she can feel it against her body. "I wasn't kidding, Peter, this is love, I want it forever."

She wishes it were her and not Peter answering that. Peter doesn't do so well with feelings sometimes. She can feel Peter's anxiety from across the bed.

"Romantic," Peter says, going for amused.

"_Peter_ \-- "

"Shh, hush," Peter soothes, and she can hear them kiss, feel Neal move to accommodate it. "Do you know what I risk, keeping you here? My job, my freedom, my wife -- do I seem like the kind of man who'd do that for a cheap fuck?"

"No," Neal says softly.

"Listen, it's not easy competing with you," Peter adds. "Letting you anywhere near Elizabeth without your shirt on is a calculated risk for me."

Elizabeth can't help it. The idea of Peter thinking he has to _compete_ with Neal is just so funny. She lets out a giggle before she can stop herself.

Neal stiffens.

"Hon?" Peter asks warily, and Elizabeth giggles again. "Oh, God, how much did you hear?"

Neal rolls a little, so she can see them both now, and the identical expressions on their faces makes her laugh outright.

"My own," she says, leaning over Neal to kiss the worry off Peter's face. "You have nothing to worry about."

"I wasn't _worried_," Peter grumbles, but he looks more relaxed.

"And you," she adds, kissing Neal's forehead, "aren't getting away. It took too much work to get you here to get rid of you now."

Neal smiles, but there's still wariness in his eyes. Elizabeth huffs.

"Stay there," she says, and climbs across them both to the nightstand on Peter's side of the bed. For their tenth anniversary, Peter took her to Belize; she gave him an anniversary ring, a thick gold band set with a small row of diamonds across the top. He treasures it but he doesn't wear it to work, afraid it'll get damaged; he keeps it in its box in the nightstand, only wears it snug against his wedding band when they go out together. She knows Neal's seen him wearing it, though -- they've both caught Neal looking at it with a con artist's appraising eye. It's just what Neal does.

"Here," she says, and offers it to him. Neal stares at her, glances at Peter. Peter nods. His fingers are slimmer than Peter's, but it fits around his index, slides over the knuckle and rests there. He curls his fingers in, awestruck.

"We'll get you one of your own," she tells him. "Until then, wear that one."

Something relaxes in the set of Neal's shoulders, the curve of his jaw. He nods and runs his hand through her hair, the ring cool when it brushes her ear. He settles. He calms.

Peter looks relieved. Elizabeth shoves him gently and then climbs back over him, into the middle, because she's cold and they're warm. Besides, they should all go back to sleep, and if she's in the middle she'll hear if Neal has any more midnight insecurities.

Neal wears the ring for nearly two weeks -- not at work either, people would recognize it as Peter's and they do have a cover to maintain. But any time they're not in the office she knows he has it on.

Finally she finds a ring just for Neal, and shows it to Peter, who laughs. It's simple, a smooth gold band, but the edges and interior tell a story -- there are little ridges, little etchings, and when the ring is removed it looks like it was delicately folded from thick gold paper. An origami ring, but a little more durable than the animals Neal used to leave for her.

She doesn't know what he tells people when they see the ring, but it doesn't really matter. He wears it on his index finger, where Peter's ring was, and the only time he ever takes it off is to clean it. Sometimes it's spattered with paint, once or twice with blood. There's a little dent in it, eventually, where Neal slammed his hand in a door to stop it locking on Peter during some op they were running -- it broke two bones in Neal's hand, but the little dent and the broken bones saved Peter's life.

The ring, she knows, may have saved Neal's.

\---

Their twentieth anniversary is Neal's tenth year with them, at least according to Elizabeth. Peter (mathematical Peter) dates it from the day Neal burned the Leonardos, making it seven years, and Neal (romantic Neal) dates it from the day he and Peter met in midtown for the very first time, making it sixteen. By El's decree, however, they celebrate the one anniversary, twenty for Peter and El, ten for Peter and El and Neal. The symmetry pleases her. Neal takes them to Italy, which pleases her even more.

The light of Rome agrees with Peter, nearly fifty and with grey hair he blames on Neal; Neal, fortyish himself, dyes his hair but ignores the deepening lines on his face, serenely unworried -- he knows how handsome he is. She catches Neal flirting with an American tourist, a lost young woman looking for directions to a museum. When he holds the map for her, orienting it correctly, she compliments his ring.

"Thank you," he says, smiling down at her with a con man's charm. Elizabeth feels a stab of strange jealousy, something alien and unfamiliar in their lives. "It was a gift."

"Girlfriend?" she asks, laying a hand on his.

"The love of my life," Neal answers, withdrawing his hand, and Elizabeth's jealousy is abruptly replaced by an almost vindictive pleasure. _Ours, not yours._ "Now, just head straight and make a right in about half a mile, and you're there."

He sends the young woman on her way, looks up and sees Elizabeth watching. What she's feeling must show in her face, because he steps into the shadow of the cafe where she was standing and kisses her.

That's how Peter finds them, kissing, Neal's ring warm where his hand holds her face. Peter grabs the back of Neal's neck to get his attention.

"Come on," he says. "I'm starving."

Neal, always the chivalrous one, offers her his elbow; she takes it with one hand, and feels Peter reach for her other.

It's perfect.


End file.
